


Don’t be afraid of the dark

by Avon7



Category: The Bill
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:24:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6789982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avon7/pseuds/Avon7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is Mickey being haunted, or is he just learning that we never walk alone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don’t be afraid of the dark

By some strange custom CID night duty turn the office lights off and leave on only the desk lights. Mickey Webb, sitting miserably at his desk, wished desperately that it was otherwise. He hadn’t always hated night duty – but now he did. He’d wriggled out of his last two turns - swapping once with Danny, who was saving for a designer tracksuit he’d fallen in love with, and once with Paul, who was easy going enough to say yes to most things. Tonight, though, he’d had no luck. Danny had reached his target and didn’t need the extra cash and Tuesdays were Paul’s Tai Kwondo classes; Mickey would rather die than ask Kate for a favour and Duncan had a wife.  Pausing in the paperwork he was trying to bury himself in Mickey admitted to himself that it had nothing to do with Shona - Duncan never seemed to see her anyway. No, he just didn’t want Duncan asking questions. Mickey chewed on a pencil while he thought. He wasn’t sure if he was scared that Duncan would laugh at him - or scared that he wouldn’t.  The Jocks *were* supposed to be a superstitious bunch.  Mickey slewed around in his chair so he could see the desk that*wasn’t* John Boulton’s.

It sat there empty in its little half circle of yellow light but Mickey still shivered. It didn’t matter what his eyes told him – he still felt someone there. Sometimes he thought he heard drawers open and shut, the impatient tapping of a pencil or the soft and faintly off-key humming of Liverpool FC’s anthem, “You’ll Never Walk Alone”. Mostly though it was just a feeling – an impression of restless energy trapped there. During the day – even though he was bloody glad it wasn’t his desk there – it wasn’t too bad. Most of the time he sensed nothing and in the bright daylight and noisy bustle of dayshift it was easy to dismiss it if he did. Alone in the darkened office, though, Mickey knew someone was there. On edge, Mickey jumped when the phone rang.

“Yeah, Sarge, it’s Mickey Webb…nah, I’d be happy to come down and have a look – no problems.” With a rush of relief he dumped his pencil back onto his desk and stood up. Heading purposefully for the door he risked a quick look over his shoulder at Boulton’s corner. There was nothing there – not even a shadow – but a soft Scouse voice could be heard,

_“And you'll never walk alone, you'll never, ever walk alone.”_

 

It took only a few minutes and a cursory examination of the prisoner for Mickey to know that he’d never seen him but he managed to spin out his trip downstairs with a barely necessary rego check in CAD and a detour to the canteen for coffee and a chocolate bar. A mob of PCs from A Relief were there and in the gossip and banter any thoughts of an unseen presence in the office upstairs faded away into a gossamer web of fantasy, barely remembered. Mickey trotted back upstairs, confident that there’d be no-one but him in the office – until he pushed open the door and saw a red head bent over the desk.

Inspector Cullen looked up as Mickey swore and stepped back sharply, crashing into the doorframe. “Mickey?” Mickey looked at him speechlessly. He could see it was Cullen now – wrong height, wrong face, wrong shade of red and totally wrong personality – but his heart was still pounding so hard he felt sick and as the adrenalin rush crashed tremors shook him. Through a mist he heard his voice say, “Guv” as Cullen took his arm. Cullen led him to a chair and sat him down. With almost dispassionate detachment he noted Mickey’s pallor and the way his hand shook when he lifted his arm to wipe the sweat from his face.

“Are you hurt?”

Mickey shook his head dumbly.

“Sick?”

Mickey shook his head again then took a breath and managed,

“No, Guv.”

Cullen, deciding that Webb wasn’t going to faint, let go of his arm and pulled a chair over. 

“Well, what then? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Mickey looked away from Cullen, looked down at his hands, found they were still trembling and balled them carefully into fists. Could he tell Cullen? He didn’t know, couldn’t even begin to predict what his reaction would be. He’d been his guv’nor for almost two months but Mickey still felt he barely knew him. If it had been Chris Deakin, now - well, Mickey knew what he would have said. ‘Bollocks, Mickey,’ he would have said in his most quietly incisive voice, ‘what *have * you been watching?’ Mickey glanced up at Cullen, who still waited - face characteristically expressionless.

“Thought I had – thought you were John Boulton.”

Mickey tried for a smile, tried to pretend that this was all a bit of a joke, then, as nothing on Cullen’s face changed, added softly,

“I think he’s here sometimes.”

Cullen nodded and narrowed his eyes a little, considering.  Boulton – the one who’d died and tumbled down Sun Hill’s house of cards.  He looked down at Mickey.

“Yeah?  Do you see him?” he asked in an almost gentle voice.

There was neither scorn nor laughter in his voice. Mickey shook his head.

“Nuh… I just know he’s there… it’s like some sort of energy.  Sometimes I think I hear him….” Mickey fumbled to a stop and waited to be told he was crazy.

Cullen nodded.

“You could well be right, Mickey. He died a very unhappy death, didn’t he?”

Mickey looked puzzled.

 “What?”

“He was young and he wasn’t expecting to die that night – and he was killed by a colleague –“

“Beech kept saying they were friends,” Mickey interrupted.

“Friends,” repeated Cullen softly. “So, he wouldn’t have been ready to go – and I’ve heard how much he loved his work. It’s perfectly reasonable that he’d come here until he’s ready to make sense of what happened.”

Mickey stared at the DI, mouth agape as he tried to find words.

“You believe in ghosts!”

The tone was almost accusing but Cullen merely looked thoughtful.

“No, I don’t know I do. I believe in something. Maybe what you’re feeling is Boulton’s spirit, which isn’t ready to move on yet - or maybe it’s an energy impression, left behind because he was happy here.  What does this presence feel like?  Angry, sad, happy….?”

Mickey nodded a little. It did make a sort of sense. He looked over to the corner and realised with surprise that he could still feel Boulton there but somehow that seemed sort of okay now.

“No,” he said slowly, realising that he’d never even thought about it. “No, just restless - he was like that. He hated just sitting somewhere, hated meetings, hated taking holidays. If he was in the office you never got any peace – he was always moving around and fiddling with things…. You know how when there’s a thunderstorm coming the whole air changes? That was Boulton.”

Cullen nodded. Just then Chandler’s voice called from outside,

“Alex, I’m ready now, mate.”

Cullen got up and walked to the door. He hesitated there for a moment, hand hovering at the light switch.

“Sure you’re awake now or should I put the lights on?”

Mickey grinned. “Nah, no need.”

Left in the half-dark office Mickey moved back to his own desk, fished for a half bag of crisps in his drawer and sat back down to his paperwork. A faint noise came from Boulton’s corner and Mickey looked up briefly,

“Change the station, Sarge," he grinned.  “They’re a rubbish team, anyway.”

 

_When you walk through a storm hold your head up high_

_And don't be afraid of the dark._

_At the end of a storm is a golden sky_

_And the sweet silver song of a lark._

_Walk on through the wind,_

_Walk on through the rain,_

_Tho' your dreams be tossed and blown._

_Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart_

_And you'll never walk alone,_

_You'll never, ever walk alone._

_Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart_

_And you'll never walk alone,_

_You'll never, ever walk alone._

 


End file.
